


the mistakes we have made

by anoddconstellationofthoughts



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baker Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, M/M, Non-Superpower AU, Pansexual Bucky Barnes, Stucky - Freeform, abandoned, i'll add more as the story goes on - Freeform, idk man i suck at tags, probably i'm still getting to that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-05-23 08:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoddconstellationofthoughts/pseuds/anoddconstellationofthoughts
Summary: steve tries to take a taxi home on valentine's day, but it turns out nat's driving and she has other plans.





	1. setting the stage

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the "a taxi, an old enemy, and valentine’s day" prompt (it doesn't exactly fit but who cares)

Steve Rogers stood on the sidewalk, shoulders hunched and both hands stuffed in his pockets. The February air bit into his cheeks and tore through his coat, but he kept his head high and didn't let his watering eyes show. He was supposed to look official, damn it. 

"Mr. Rogers?"

Steve snapped his gaze to the bellboy, who was shivering in an oversized coat and pointing at a yellow car. "Your taxi, sir."

"Yes, thank you." Steve pulled a twenty from his pocket and followed the boy to the taxi. He pressed the bill into the boy's hand before sliding through the open door and pulled his legs up so he could fit into the car. The bellboy thanked him and shut the door.

The taxi's small driver smiled maliciously at Steve through the mirror. "Where to, Mr. Rogers?"

Steve blinked, curling into himself to escape the lingering chill. "Nat?" 

"Hey Steve," her smile turned warm. 

"Why...?"

"Oh, we've got plans today. I wanted to pick you up special."

Dread began to trickle through Steve's chest. "I'm supposed to be heading back to Brooklyn. The kids have been alone at the bakery for a week because of this business trip–" 

"They're fine," Nat brushed him off, "Shuri's been updating all of the machines and tech, and Peter and Ned have broken the rest. It's okay though, they're damn good cooks." They both smiled fondly. "Tony calls them Thing One and Thing Two. It's like a daycare." 

Steve laughed, realizing that they'd begun driving. "So does that mean T'Challa's in town?" 

Nat turned down a crowded street. "Yeah, he wanted to drop in and check up on things for a bit. Brought a friend with him, too." 

The way she said "friend," made Steve's heart rate pick up. "Nat- not again-"

"Chill, Steve, Wakanda doesn't even observe Valentine's Day, you're safe." 

“That doesn't mean-"

"There's no desperate girl waiting with him, okay? I know what you're thinking." She glanced up at him through the mirror. "Promise."

She paused. "We're just meeting them for lunch." 

Steve sighed. "And then you'll take me back to the bakery."

"Yes."

Steve leaned his head on the headrest and groaned. "Fine. How did you get this taxi anyway?"

Nat chuckled. "Oh, you'd like to hear that story, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, y’know," she smirked, "it was just like Budapest."

"Oh fuck off!"

 

*   * *

 

The lunch place was a petite corner shop named Daisies a little ways away from the hotel Steve had been staying at. It was absolutely adorable, and Steve resented the owners for it. Hopefully, the food wouldn't be that good. Kilroy's was much better.

Nat made Steve hop out of the car in front of the cafe to grab a table while she parked the car. He grumpily obliged. 

Daisies smelled incredible. Bacon, and toast, and sugar, and cinnamon, and every other good breakfast smell in the world. True to the name, pressed daisies lined the walls and vases garnished every table. They were moderately full, lovesick couples filling the air with far too much laughing and chattering.

_ Shit, Rogers, when did you become such a stickler? You're getting old. _

There was one empty booth in the back, and Steve quickly claimed it. 

He had only just sat down when he saw T'Challa walk in, a bearded man behind him. A very attractive bearded man. A vaguely familiar, very, very attractive bearded man.

_ Fuck _ .

"Steve! It is good to see you, brother." 

"Your majesty," Steve slid out of the booth and inclined his head jokingly. 

T'Challa scoffed and pulled him in for a hug. "Are we doing the formalities again, Captain? You should have told me; I would've let Shuri arrange the fireworks." He released Steve and gestured to the man. "This is my good friend, Sergeant James Barnes."

The name clicked. And Steve remembered. 

"Nice to see you again, Rogers," Barnes stuck out his hand, and Steve took it. God, that smirk infuriated him.

Nearly 10 years later, and it still did things to him. Steve wanted to punch something. Or someone. 

"It's good to see you too, Barnes. You still working with special forces?"  Steve fought to keep his voice steady. He let go of Barnes's hand and sat down in the booth, the king and Barnes following suit. T'Challa gave them a curious look.

Barnes chuckled darkly. "Hell no. I needed out." 

Steve nodded formally. "Yeah."

"I didn't realize you two knew each other," T'Challa said after a brief pause. Barnes's irritatingly beautiful blue eyes bored into Steve's.

"Yeah, we knew each other." Barnes raised his eyebrows but didn't interrupt Steve. "A long time ago."

Barnes huffed a laugh and looked down at the table, shaking his head slightly. Steve noticed a single earbud in his left ear, the cord disappearing into the jacket he kept on, but disregarded it. 

T'Challa squinted at Steve. "Hmm." He sat back in the booth, the vinyl, cracked and aged by years of asses, squeaking with the movement. "I see." 

Barnes looked up at Steve again. The blond only nodded uncomfortably. 

"Hello, boys," Nat suddenly appeared at Steve's side. "I see you and Bucky have met?" 

_ Bucky. I'd forgotten about that.  _

"They apparently already knew each other," T'Challa mused. 

"Did you now?" Nat kicked Steve's ankle. She smiled warmly at Barnes. "I love the hair and beard combination. What is it, hobo chic?"

He laughed, crinkling his eyes and tossing his head back. Steve felt something in his gut tighten.

"Hey, I've got a bun, that makes me hipster chic, not hobo."

Nat nodded, "Of course, whatever you say, Sergeant Barnes." 

The three of them laughed, and Steve made himself join in. He hoped it was convincing.

The waitress approached their table and passed out menus. "Why hello all, you're looking splendid this fine morning. How may I be of service to you on this beautiful day? God has simply blessed us hasn't he." she giggled. "My name is Julia, and I'll be taking care of you today. Can I start you off with anything to drink besides water?" She had a faint southern accent that faded in and out, and her eyes were fixed on Barnes. Steve sighed. It was going to be a long meal.

Nat and Steve ordered black coffee, T'Challa got a green tea and Barnes... Barnes asked for a double mocha frappuccino with extra whipped cream. Julia winked at him and said, "You got it, honey," then left. 

Steve sighed again. it was going to be a really long meal. 

He doesn't really remember what they talked about, only that they were insignificant things, that his omelet was chewy ( _ Ned's are better _ , Steve thought with pride), and that Barnes kept staring at him. The waitress kept flirting with Barnes, who halfheartedly returned it. At some point, it all became white noise.

Eventually, the meal ended. Nat paid ("Stark's treat," she said), and they all left. 

Outside the restaurant, Nat turned to Steve. "I thought that wasn’t bad." 

He scoffed, not meaning for it to sound as bitter as it did. T'Challa gave him a strange look. "Kilroy's is better."

Barnes looked up, amused. "Kilroy's?" 

"Steve here owns a cafe down in Brooklyn," Nat nudged him. 

"Yeah, and I'm supposed to be there right now."

"Let's head out, then," Nat smirked at Steve, "so you can check up on your children."

Barnes grinned, and Steve hated it. "Children?"

Nat looked at T'Challa. "You two gonna join us?"

"I have to pick up Shuri, so we might as well." He nodded at Barnes. "We’ll meet you there at two."

"Sounds like a plan," Barnes smiled at Nat. "See you there." He winked at Steve, then spun on his heel and followed T'Challa to their car. Steve’s stomach twisted.

Nat and Steve walked to the taxi in silence. When they arrived, Steve slumped in the back. Nat sat down in the driver's seat and twisted around to look at him. 

"The hell was that, Rogers?"

He let out a noncommittal grunt and closed his eyes.

"First off, you and the Winter Soldier know each other? But you didn't wanna talk about it, so then he tries to eyefuck and tease you the entire meal and you look like you wanna give in but you also look so mad I was scared you were gonna shit yourself out of anger. And then you completely tuned out."

Steve grunted again. "We have history."

Nat rolled her eyes and turned around. She started the taxi and began to pull out if the parking space. 

"Keep talking."

Steve groaned. "Fine.

"We were kind of friends growing up, and then we both went into the marines and ended up in the same special forces unit. He was an incredible marksman, and our squad, the Howling Commandos, was the best. We had a perfect record.

"And, uh," Steve cleared his throat, "well... things happen in war. People... grow closer. And we, erm, kinda slept together a couple times?"

Nat stayed silent. 

"Okay, maybe more than a couple times, it was pretty frequently, but I somehow managed to fall completely in love with him. He didn't feel the same." Steve closed his eyes again. "So things were weird after that. Weird meaning we stopped talking, and it really fucked with the dynamics of the team. So after one really bad mission," Dum Dum's lifeless eyes still haunted the back of Steve's mind, "some words were said," his heartbeat grew louder, "and he left us. Got transferred to another unit. Became the Winter Soldier, world-class sniper and, eventually, I guess, assassin." 

Steve rubbed his eyes. “He disappeared and became this– myth, this legend everyone knew and talked about, but never met. He just… deserted us.”

The taxi was silent. Steve kept his eyes shut. 

"Did you ever get over him?"

"I forgot about him. But I'm not sure that's the same thing." 

Nat made a noise of agreement. 

"Well, I'm sorry I made you sit through that. I just wanted you to meet someone new," she said softly.

"Yeah."

"Are you still comfortable with him meeting the kids?"

Steve hesitated. "Yeah, I guess." Guilt began to clog his chest, and he took a deep breath.

"Okay."

Nat turned on the radio and they didn't talk for the rest of the ride.

 

*   * *

 

Kilroy’s was warm and smelled like chocolate, and coffee, and freshly baked bread. The moment Steve walked in, he wanted to collapse on the floor and sleep for 70 years. But it was relatively busy, so he didn’t do that. 

Some of the tables were full, but most people were in line or waiting for their orders. The small cafe was loud, classic rock playing softly in the background. The walls were a warm brown, lined with photos of Brooklyn, plus drawings and art the kids had made over the years. Booths and tables filled the space, making it crowded, but cozy. Stark had offered to buy the neighboring building so they could expand, but Steve had told him no. At least for now. 

“Mr. Rogers, sir! Auntie Nat!” Peter waved at them over a line of people. “You’re back!” 

MJ's head popped up from under the counter. “Oh, hey Steve. Agent Romanoff.”

"Hi, Mr. Rogers! Hi, Ms. Romanoff!” Ned grinned at them from his position at the stove behind the window between the kitchen and the counter.

“STEVEN YOU HAVE TO SEE THE MUFFINS,” Shuri screeched from somewhere in the back of the kitchen. “THEY ARE THE BEST THINGS I HAVE EVER MADE.”

A couple of heads turned, but Steve ignored them. He made his way around the counter and gave Peter a quick hug. The boy squeezed him back tightly. 

"Nice work, Peter,” Steve stepped back so Nat could hug him. He patted MJ on the back. “How’s the shop been?”

"Busy.” MJ snapped the lid on a cup and placed it on the counter. “Addison?” A lady quickly snatched the coffee up.

“Yeah, Mr. Rogers, we’ve been super busy today. Ned’s a great cook. I think he taught Shuri how to make muffins yesterday. She’s created like six new flavors since then.”

Nat laughed and ruffled Peter’s hair. “We’ll let you two work then. When T'Challa shows up just holler.” 

MJ lit up. Admittedly, it was just a small smile, but T'Challa was one of the few men she looked up to, and Steve thought it was adorable. He squeezed her shoulder and began to head back to the kitchen.

"Ham and cheese omelet?” Ned placed the container on the counter window. MJ whisked it away instantly. 

“Steven! Natasha!” Shuri popped up in front of them with two platters of muffins in her hands. “Muffins!”

"Muffins!” Nat agreed, reaching in and taking one. She took a bite and moaned. “This is so good, oh my God.”

"That,” Shuri said proudly, “is a caramel apple bread based muffin with drizzled caramel, bread crumbs, and sliced apples on top. I call it Caramel Catastrophe!”

Nat choked on her bite of muffin, and Steve chuckled. He took one from the other tray, a red, white, and blue monstrosity that he wasn’t sure he could still call a muffin. “And this?”

"The Stevedore: strawberry and lemon base, with ginger and honey coated blueberries on top. It’s more of a cupcake, to be honest, but it’s my personal favorite.” She beamed at him as he tried to fit a bit into his mouth. It was heaven. 

Nat chuckled. “Why, exactly, is it called the Stevedore?”

“Because, it is red, white, and blue, like Steven, and… people adore it?” Shuri shrugged. “It just made sense.”

Steve nodded around a mouth full of muffin. "I have no complaints.”

"Also,” Shuri added, "I taught everyone how to fix everything in here because Peter said I couldn’t throw anything out and make new stuff until you came back.” 

“Shuri!” Peter yelled, “the cases are getting empty!”

“Relax, Peter Rabbit, I’ll be right there,” she called back. She rolled her eyes at Nat. “Men.”

Nat snorted and walked over to Ned. “How are you, Ned?”

Ned cracked another egg into the skillet. "I have never made so many omelets in my entire life.”

"Need a break?”

"No,” he flipped an egg, “the rush is almost over.”

Steve nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna run upstairs for a sec. You guys hold down the fort.”

Nat saluted him and began cleaning up. “You got it, Cap.”

The back door out of the kitchen led to the apartments upstairs where Steve occasionally rented out places and where the kids often stayed. There were only a four separate apartments, one for Steve, one for the kids to stay, one for Nat, Clint, and the rest of the gang to stay whenever they were in town, and an empty one. The last tenant had been a perfectly nice old man, but he’d hated the kids, so he left on his own accord. Steve had felt kind of bad for him, but only a bit.

He tore off his jacket, scarf, and shirts and collapsed on the bed. Valentine’s Day was hard enough without anything happening, so seeing Barnes again was just an added bonus. Steve had tried, God, he had tried to escape Barnes, but evidently, he hadn’t tried hard enough. Those eyes still haunted him, even a decade later, and Steve hated it.

He hated how much power Barnes still had over him. They’d never even had a functional relationship beyond those nights together and an odd friendship. In all honesty, they’d never known each other that well beyond being able to fight together. It was all a fluke.

Steve laid in his bed for a while, caught somewhere in between thinking too much and not at all. He replayed every memory he had of Barnes in his mind and felt sick to his stomach. But he didn’t move from his position.

A long time passed. Or maybe it wasn’t long at all. Steve lost track.

 

*   * *

 

“Steve?”

“Mmgbh.”

“Steve.” A pair of gentle hands shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”

Steve cracked open his eyes to find T'Challa standing next to the bed. “Did I fall asleep?”

The king’s eyes were soft. “Yes. For about an hour.” He winced in apology. “Natasha told me. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

Steve flopped onto his back and realized he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. He groaned and rolled off the bed to grab one. “It’s fine.”

“You came up here to pass out almost the moment you got back.” T'Challa sat on the bed, eyes on the drawings and photos on the walls. “Something is bothering you.”

Steve found a shirt and pulled it over his head. He didn’t say anything.

“Do you know how Bucky and I became friends?” T'Challa asked. When Steve didn’t respond, he continued. “He came to me in need of something. Something very difficult to produce.” He folded his hands in his lap. “An arm.” 

Steve froze, his back still to T'Challa. Shock and mild terror raced through his veins.

"I cannot tell you how he lost the arm, for that is not my story to tell. But when he came to Wakanda and asked for aid, he had nothing to offer me. No way to pay for a limb that would undoubtedly cost thousands, maybe even millions of dollars if the technology was advanced enough. He told me he would find a way to pay me back no matter what, if I would only give him use of both arms again. He was desperate.”

Steve slowly turned around to face the king. T'Challa was still sitting on the bed, watching the wall intently.

"I asked him to tell me a story. And so he did.” He chuckled. “Ask him to tell you that story later.” 

Steve nodded mutely, still reeling.  _ Barnes lost an arm..? I didn’t notice at lunch… _

“But after I heard his story, I made a decision. Wakanda is a place of healing, of sanction, of protection. I would provide his arm, fully functional and personalized to his body if he would help me create Wakanda's prosthetics program. I told him that I could use his insight and that I had wanted to set up such a program for a long time, but the opportunity had never presented itself.” T'Challa smiled fondly. “Granted, he would have to spend a lot of time with Shuri figuring things out, but my sister was in need of a new project anyway. He agreed without hesitation.”

Shuri knew him. Knows him. Steve took a shuddering breath. 

T'Challa finally turned to look at Steve, whose eyes were unfocused and pointed at the bed. The blond man’s heart and mind were engaged in a race to see who could go faster before Steve himself combusted. T'Challa seemed to sense his instability.

"I do not wish to impose myself on your life or your relationships, Steve,” the king stood and walked around the bed to put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, "but I do believe that it might do you well to talk to him. Even if it’s just as friends. Especially if it’s just as friends.” Steve lifted his gaze to meet T'Challa’s sympathetic eyes. “He wants to talk to you.”

The world was still moving and Steve was struggling to catch up. But he ignored the physical ache in his chest and nodded to T'Challa. “Okay. We’ll talk.”

T'Challa’s smile was grateful. he squeezed Steve’s shoulders. “Should I send him up?”

Steve released a harsh breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

T'Challa nodded, and let Steve go. He gave one last reassuring glance before leaving Steve alone.

He watched the door close and then went to clean up. He needed to prepare himself for this.

 

*   * *

As Bucky Barnes walked up the stairs to the apartment, he willed himself to be calm. That’s what he was trained for, right? Staying calm in stressful situations?

_ But they've never felt this personal before _ , a voice in his head whispered.

_ Fuck off _ , he told it.

Seeing Nat and Shuri again had been wonderful, and all the other kids seemed cool. Well, Peter had exclaimed, “You have a metal arm? That’s awesome, dude!” upon meeting him, but the cafe was pretty much empty at that point, so it didn’t really matter. Shuri had just laughed and rightfully claimed all the credit for it. 

But when Steve still hadn’t shown up and Nat had taken T'Challa aside to talk, Bucky had begun to worry. He’d known Nat was going to bring Steve, and T'Challa knew their past, even if he’d done a good job of hiding it at lunch. They’d both hoped that the reunion would go over well, but instead Steve had been distant and quiet the entire time. He had looked shell-shocked.

Bucky had noticed the moment Steve recognized him: the wary but friendly grin had dropped and been replaced with a forced smile laced with anger and pain. He knew it was his fault, and he hated himself for it. 

But then Natasha had scolded both him and T'Challa for not telling her anything and sent T'Challa up there to talk. 

And the king had come back down and said, “He wants to talk to you.”

So here Bucky was.

Outside of his ex kind-of-boyfriend’s apartment, trying to figure out how to apologize nearly 10 years late.

_ God, Barnes, your life’s like a fuckin’ soap opera. _

He knocked on the door. All the way at the top, Natasha had said. He hoped she was right.

The door opened, and there he was. Steven fucking Rogers.

Bucky felt very small all of a sudden.

“Hey.”

Steve stared at him for a moment before softly replying, “Hi.”

They both looked at each other. Steve snapped out of it first and opened the door wider so Bucky could enter the apartment. Bucky murmured a  _ thanks _ and stepped in. 

The apartment was simple: a couch, an armchair, a tv, a table, a separate bedroom, and a kitchenette. The walls were bare except for a couple of photographs and drawings. The fridge was covered in them. It looked like Steve had tried to move in, but hadn’t really been given enough time to. It was still nice, though.

Steve closed the door and walked past Bucky to the couch. He sat down and clasped his hands in his lap. “So.”

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and remained standing. “So.”

Steve narrowed his eyes and nodded towards the armchair. “You can sit, you know.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Bucky sat. 

They watched each other for a minute or two. Bucky took the opportunity to look Steve over. He’s gotten even bigger since I last saw him. Good God.

Steve interrupted his thoughts. “T'Challa said I should ask you to tell me the story you told him. When you asked him…” he trailed off and nodded at Bucky’s arms. Bucky hunched his shoulders self consciously.

“Oh. Okay.”

Bucky inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Steve was still watching him when he opened them. He knew how he had to do this.

“So... when I was younger, there was this guy.” Steve immediately tensed, but Bucky kept talking. “We weren’t really close, but I guess we were friends because we hung out and played together a lot. But we still didn’t really get to know each other. I was always kind of sad about that.”

Steve looked like he had started breathing again. That comforted Bucky a little bit.

“But we went to school together, and then into the military together. We didn’t see each other much in the academy, but somehow we got put in the same special forces unit as marines. And I guess that’s where I started losing it.” Bucky sighed. “Being in a war with someone, on the same team, being forced to watch each other and work together and basically spend every waking moment together… it does a lot for a relationship. So we got closer. a lot closer.” He laughed awkwardly. Steve stayed silent.

“But when he admitted he had feelings for me, I– I couldn’t say it back. not because I didn’t, but because that was just– it was just a lot to deal with at the time. So I told him I didn’t feel the same. And I think it broke both of us.” Bucky’s eyes were on his feet now. He didn’t want to see Steve’s reaction. 

“Things weren’t the same after that. He was… well, he took it well enough, I guess, but it messed with his perception of me. He didn’t trust me anymore, he never wanted to be around me, and we never talked anymore. It’s not that I– shit,” Bucky huffed and ran a hand through his hair, “it’s not that I didn’t get it, I did, believe me, I was just… struggling. With everything. The war, killing people, I missed my family, and then, just, losing him was kind of the final straw.”

Bucky shook his head and looked up at the wall, away from Steve. "I just couldn’t hold on anymore. Everyone else on the team knew that something had happened, but no one asked, because whatever had happened wasn’t supposed to happen and to ask would be to confessing they knew and didn’t report it. So they all kept quiet, and we suffered in silence. I could only think about doing my job, and I didn’t even care if I went home anymore, because there was nothing left for me there. I didn’t think that I could go back to my family and be happy. I didn’t think they’d want me, or that anyone would.”

Steve was still motionless and quiet.

“And I got reckless. Stopped watching my six, stopped caring if I got hurt, stopped everything. And then, one mission, I got a little too reckless. And one of the men in our unit stepped in front of a hailstorm of bullets for me.”  _ Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t– _

“He blamed me. And he was right, but I couldn’t see why I couldn’t have died instead. I didn’t see why Dum– my teammate had to save me and get himself killed so I had to live another day with that guilt when I could have ended it all. I couldn’t stand it, so I put in a request, and they moved me to another unit, then to some obscure government agency, then eventually I became a floater, going from team to team just to kill one person and then leave. They started calling me the Winter Soldier because I was so cold– I never talked to anyone beyond what was necessary. So I just let them talk.

“And the entire time I couldn’t stop myself from wondering about him. I tried not to, but the guilt and regret were all consuming. It was just… too much.” Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Steve swallow. He closed his eyes. “So I asked to be sent on a mission on my own. My supervising officer reluctantly agreed and gave me something relatively easy: an unguarded rural target. A quick pop in, and a quick pop out. Easy.”

Bucky pulled his hands out of his pockets and wrapped his arms around himself. “They were misinformed. The target was guarded and knew what I was going to do. He caught me and tortured me for information. I tried to escape,” he took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes, “and ended up falling off of a cliff. They found me at the bottom, alive, but just barely. That’s when I lost the arm.” He held up his left hand so Steve could see the dark metal. Steve seemed to shrink in on himself, so Bucky quickly hid the hand again. 

"Eventually, the compound they were holding me in was ambushed and I was rescued but... I was still dehydrated, starving, and missing an arm. The military quickly brought me back to health, gave me some money, and let me go. ‘An honorable discharge,’ they said. I got a purple heart. I ended up selling it for food.” He laughed bitterly and shook his head. "I used what little money I had left to fly to Wakanda. I’d heard stories on the field about hidden technology and unlimited riches and resources. I thought that if anyone could heal me, they could.

“Thankfully,” Bucky shrugged, "I was right. I got an audience with the king and told him that I needed to find my own self-worth and sanity again, and I'd do anything if he helped me get it. For some reason, T'Challa took a chance on me and healed me, all so that I could give him some advice on how to set up a program to provide advanced prosthetics and care to those in need. I didn’t even end up doing that much. He wanted me to be an ambassador, but I wasn't ready. So I was just there, enjoying the ride. And yet I still felt empty.”

Bucky finally glanced at Steve, who looked like he wanted to cry. He continued:

“Then, one day, T'Challa told me that he’d found the man I had fallen for all those years before. That they were actually friends, and that he would, I guess, reintroduce me if I wanted. And, God, I just…” he ran a hand through his hair and looked away again. "I kinda just jumped at the opportunity. I knew he wouldn’t want to see me, so I managed to convince T'Challa not to tell him who I was. I just wanted to see if he’d remember me.” He grimaced. “And he did. Just… not the way I wanted him to.”

He looked back up. Steve’s face had gone cold, and suddenly Bucky was terrified again.

“Is that it?”

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Steve shook his head. "I can’t believe you.”

“...What?”

“You told me you didn’t love me and completely cut things off because ‘it was a lot to deal with?’ Really Buck? That’s what boyfriends are for, we’re supposed to trust each other and talk to each other and support each other; that’s the whole goddamn point! Hell, even basic teammates are supposed to do that!” He leaned forward and snarled, "I told you everything, or at least I tried to, but every time it got too deep you’d change the subject. Any questions I’d ask would be brushed off, or ignored. The only thing we were good at was fucking and fighting!”

Bucky was glued to his chair. He couldn’t move, much less look away from Steve. He never remembered the other man ever becoming this angry. A dull buzzing began in his head.

"I wanted to help, Buck. I wanted so desperately to help because I knew we weren’t going to last. I knew you were struggling. But you wouldn’t talk to me, so I just let it be because I figured that you would come to me when you were ready.” 

Bucky’s entire body ached. He dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand.

"And then I finally felt comfortable enough to tell you I loved you, and you laughed. You laughed, and you told me I was a fool for wanting anything more from this relationship, for thinking that that was even a possibility.”

Tears were starting to well in Steve’s eyes, and Bucky could feel them in his, too.

"So, yeah, I was unhappy. Yeah, I didn’t want to see you. Yeah, I ignored you. Because it hurt. Knowing you were in the other tent, just fine and enjoying yourself, hurt.”

Bucky felt his shoulders drop, acid crawling up the back of his throat. "I wasn’t–”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?” Steve yelled. “You never talked to anyone. You never told anyone anything, which is fine if you’re dealing with your problems, but you weren’t. And there’s only so much I can assume from your Goddamn body language!” Steve’s breathing turned heavy. “And then you went and tried to get yourself killed, but Dum Dum ended up dying instead, and then you left and I–” the tears finally started falling.

Bucky gaped at him.

"I just…” Steve held his head in his hands, voice shaky. “Fucking hell. I hate you so much right now.”

Every inch of Bucky’s body hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Steve didn’t respond. 

Bucky stood up, breathing shallow. “Do you want me to leave…?” 

The blond looked up and stared at him. Bucky swallowed. He’d known that he had hurt Steve, but to hear it described to him like this…

“What do you think?”

Bucky blinked. "I don’t know.”

Steve stood up and walked over to him. “God, you're such a fucking idiot,” he muttered. 

“Wha-”

And then Steve pulled him into a hug. 

A really, really tight hug.

Steve buried his face in Bucky’s neck, quickly soaking the shoulder, but Bucky didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and pressed his own face into the crook of Steve’s neck and breathed him in. Soap, and fresh bread, and a hint of cinnamon, and Bucky finally let himself cry.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Steve only held him tighter.

When they finally pulled back, arms still around each other, Steve looked Bucky in the eyes. “Y’know,” he said, “in that entire speech of yours, you never outright said that you love me.”

"I love you,” Bucky replied immediately.

Steve searched his eyes. “Do you really know me?”

“I–” Bucky took a breath and licked his lips. "I don’t know. But I want to. More than anything.”

Steve pulled him back in and stroked his hair, eyes wet. He whispered, "I want to get to know you too, Buck.”

It wasn’t "I love you,” but it was something.

And Bucky was okay with that.


	2. the torture of small talk with someone you used to love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they talk. and some things are left untouched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update?? gasp!
> 
> so sorry this is so late and so short guys, i have not been doing a great job of following my writing schedule so far, but now that this chapter is finished you might get another soon? we'll see.
> 
> title from "Fourth of July" by Fall Out Boy, bc, well, it's fitting.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, Buck,” Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I should’ve–”

“It’s fine,” Bucky interrupted him, “I kinda deserved it.”

Steve dropped his arms from around Bucky and walked back to the couch, nearly falling onto it. “The words, sure, but I didn’t need to… to yell at you.” He looked up guiltily. “You’re shaking.”

“I am?” Bucky glanced down at his hands, the metal one steady, but the flesh one trembling slightly. “Oh.”

Steve reached for him. “C’mere.” Once Bucky sat, he took both of the brunet’s hands and held them gently. “You…” He watched their hands. “You gonna be okay?” 

Bucky stared at him. The blond glanced up and met his eyes, and Bucky instinctively looked away. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Steve had the good sense not to push any further. “Okay.”

They both sat there for another moment, an uneasy silence building between them. Somewhere outside the walls of the apartment, it began to snow, not prettily and gently, nor angrily and fast. It just floated to the ground and melted, leaving the pavement wet and cold and uncomfortable. It fit the situation eerily well, leaving an odd taste in Bucky’s mouth. He sighed and slumped against the back of the couch, hands still in Steve’s. 

“Do you…” Steve swallowed, and Bucky couldn’t stop his eyes from following the movement. “Do you need a moment?”

“No,” Bucky exhaled sharply and pulled the metal hand from Steve to rub at his face. He’s more comfortable with it now, but would still prefer not to let Steve examine it any more than necessary. He didn’t need the other man to realize how odd it was to have a metal limb. 

_ You can’t risk him being disgusted by it, can you Barnes? You’re afraid. _

Acid curled in his stomach.

“Hey, about the whole dating thing–” Steve’s gaze snapped up Bucky's– “I don’t wanna pressure you or anything. If you’re not ready yet, or you’re never ready, or you don’t want it–” 

“Buck–”

“–then it’s totally fine, I’m– I’m good with whatever. I just want you to be happy.” Bucky took a shuddering breath. He wrapped the metal arm around himself, careful not to jostle the flesh one where Steve still held it. He didn’t look Steve in the eye.

The blond man watched him for a moment before sighing gently and murmuring, “Okay. Thank you, Buck.” 

_ Oh look, he doesn't want you. Just the confirmation you needed.  _

Something stabbed the inside of Bucky’s ribs. “Of course.”

Steve kept his gaze on Bucky for another heartbeat before squeezing his hand one final time and releasing it. He stood up. “We should probably get back downstairs. I’ve gotta check up on things and… people are probably getting worried.” He huffed a laugh.

_ Oh no, Barnes, what’re you gonna tell T’Challa? He was really rooting for you…  _

Bucky’s heart was throwing a fit inside his chest.

_ Stop talking _ .

The voice inside of him seemed to giggle mockingly. But it didn’t say any more.

“Yeah, we should go.” Bucky forced himself to smile warmly. The wary edge in Steve’s eyes faded a bit and Bucky knew he had succeeded. He rose to his feet.  “Ready?”

Steve nodded, still seeming a bit lost. “ ‘Mkay.” 

And with that, they both headed downstairs.

 

*   * *

 

_ I’m sorry. _

_ I love you.  _

_ I don’t know. But I want to. More than anything. _

_ Hey, about the whole dating thing- I don't wanna pressure you or anything. If you’re not ready yet, or you’re never ready, or you don’t want it then it’s totally fine, I’m– I’m good with whatever. I just want you to be happy. _

_ Just want you to be happy. _

_ Happy. _

Steve swallowed. He tried to push back against Bucky's voice echoing through his head, but the worst thought wasn't the other man’s voice. It was his own.

_ What's happy without you, Buck? _

Steve clenched his fist and did his very best not to think at all. 

 

*   * *

 

They went downstairs and socialized. The restaurant was quickly closed up, and the kids showed Bucky around the shop. Shuri made everyone eat a cupcake, meaning that after an hour or two, they were all gone. They told stories and caught up on life, and soon, Steve found it easier to laugh with them. After a while, Nat and Steve forced MJ, Ned, and Peter upstairs to sleep, because if they were going to insist on staying the night, they should at least try to get a decent amount of sleep. Shuri took one look at the adults and decided to join them.

Steve tried not to notice the way T’Challa and Nat immediately zeroed in on him and Bucky as soon as Shuri ran up the stairs. From the way Bucky shifted in the booth, Steve could tell he noticed it too.

“So, Bucky,” Nat drawled, “got any plans while you’re in New York?” 

“I might visit my family tomorrow,” he shrugged, “but other than that, no.”

Steve sat up, the fake leather of the seat squeaking from the movement. “Do they still live near here?” 

“Yeah, only about a half hour from here actually.” Bucky pulled out his phone and checked the time. “I was gonna text them tonight to check if it was okay to come over, but it's probably rude to text them now.” His knee was bouncing anxiously under the table. 

“You can text them in the morning,” Nat put a comforting hand on his leg, and it stopped bouncing. Steve did his best to ignore how easily she did it. “In the meantime, where are you planning on staying the night?”

“We have rooms at Stark Tower,” T’Challa said. He’d been strangely quiet the entire time they’d been talking, and it was mildly unnerving. “I have a meeting with Tony in the morning, and I believed he expressed some interest in meeting our dear Sergeant Barnes.” While his tone was teasing, it was obvious that he was asking for permission from Bucky, even though the other man’s slight sigh made it clear it was something they'd talked about before. But he nodded.

Steve felt his own leg begin to bounce restlessly. He shifted and crossed his legs to stop it.

“Hey, tell Stark that if he wants more specialty french toast he has to call ahead and come down here to get it himself, will you?” Steve plastered a bemused smile to his face. “I’m tired of panicked interns running down here at all hours of the day asking for it in bulk just because he got hurt or is dying or something like that.”

Bucky let out a surprised laugh and Nat and T’Challa shook their heads. 

“What?” Steve rolled his eyes. “He’s  _ fine _ . You get hurt, hurt ‘em back. You get killed, walk it off.”

T’Challa coughed his tea back into the mug.

“Wow, real wisdom coming from Crusty Cap over here,” Nat chuckled.

It was Bucky’s turn to choke. “Crusty Cap–”

“That’s not even your nickname for me! That’s Tony’s!” Steve protested.

Bucky whipped his gaze to Nat. “Then what’s  _ your  _ nickname–”

“Oookay, I’m tired, I think it’s time to call it a night!” Steve stood and clapped his hands together.

T’Challa smiled into his napkin, trying to mop up the tea that had missed the mug. “Are you sure your fatigue is your true motivation for going to bed?”

“Yes! Good night!” Steve scooped up his mug and plate and made a beeline for the kitchen. 

He was just putting the dishes on the drying rack when Bucky appeared at his side, holding Nat and T’Challa’s dishes along with his own. “Mind if I help?”

Steve swallowed. The air still felt thick between them. He made himself chuckle. “Be my guest.”

The did the dishes in silence, Bucky washing, and Steve drying. The tension between them seemed to quickly dissipate, and as there were only a few dishes, they finished quickly.

“Y’know,” Bucky leaned his hip against the counter and dried his hands with the towel Steve tossed him, “besides being yelled at, today was pretty fun.”

Guilt rose up in the back of Steve’s throat. “Buck, I’m sorry–”

“Chill, Stevie, you’re fine, I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anythin’,” Bucky waved him off, and Steve wanted so desperately to believe him. “I’m trying to say that seeing you again was nice. Is nice. And we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want, but maybe we could hang out again?” He swallowed and blushed a bit. Steve hated that he felt as nervous as Bucky seemed to.

“Yeah, sure, that sounds great Buck.” He pushed the warning in his head back and ignored it. “Should we–”

“Oh, yeah, uh, here,” Bucky reached into his pocket and fumbled for his phone before unlocking it and handing it to Steve. He took it and sent himself a quick text saying  _ Steve Rogers _ . 

Bucky took the phone back and chuckled. “That's all I get? ‘Steve Rogers?’” 

“I’ll send you something different if you want–” Steve reached for the phone jokingly.

Bucky clutched the phone to his chest. “No no, no it's fine, it's fine, I’ll just be all alone, with just my ‘Steve Rogers’ to keep me company.” He dramatically wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye. His really, really pretty blue–  _ no _ –

Steve rolled his eyes. “Fine. Do whatever you want, Scarlet O’Hara. I’m gonna go to bed.” He turned to leave the kitchen and say a final good night to T’Challa and Nat. Bucky followed him, still cradling his cellphone to his chest with both hands. 

“Does that– does that reference even make sense? Have you even seen ‘Gone With the Wind?’ Because I haven't, but I feel like that doesn't make sense–”

“It makes enough sense, okay Buck? Just go with it.” Steve stuck his head out the door. “Night guys. Come by in the morning if you want anything; we open at six,” he called. 

“Nighty night, Steverino, see you tomorrow,” Nat waved at him. 

T’Challa just smiled. “Good night, Steve.”

Steve saluted him and turned to face Bucky. “We’ll catch up more sometime, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, looking mildly relieved. “I’ll text you.”

“Okay,” Steve began to head towards the stairs but turned back when he reached the door. “It was good seein’ you again, Buck.”

The other man’s smile is nothing but pleasant. “Real good seeing you too, Stevie.” 

They both paused for a moment, before Steve murmured, “Night, Buck,” and closed the door behind him.

_ The fuck was that, Rogers? _

Steve spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in his sleep, dreams full of a tortured soldier, heartache, and ice. But when he woke up the next morning, he remembered none of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *to the tune of thriller* and this is fillerrrr cause i can't write
> 
> come bother me on tumblr: rockpaperstucky
> 
> i'm a slut for validation so comments and kudos are always appreciated :)


	3. ANNOUNCEMENT

soooooo heyyy guysss

so, so sorry i left you hanging for so long. i kinda lost all motivation for this fic, if you couldn't tell that already.

but, yeah, i'm gonna be leaving this one as is but i'll be reposting the first chapter as a oneshot bc that's how it was meant to be initially. 

anyways.

sorry about all of this, but don't worry, there's smth coming in a bit.

like today.

i promise.

okie ily all byeeeee

**Author's Note:**

> i do have plans for this, i promise, i'm just trying some things out and who knows, maybe we'll get a decent fic out of it after all. cross your fingers.
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://anoddconstellationofthoughts.tumblr.com/), where i'll probably be complaining about marvel or something as one does.
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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